German Culture Training

More things you all need to know about our adopted home.

1. Mowing on Sundays is illegal in Bavaria (…and the Lord said, “On the Seventh Day, I took repose. Ye shalt too. Thou Shalt Not Mow.”)
2. You can be “pulled over” and arrested for Bicycling under the Influence. (Not sure, but think it’s called Der BUI.)
3. Telephone numbers have any variety of length. It’s not just the 10 digits that we have in the states. Consequently, remembering them is just ridiculous. I honestly have no idea what either of my phone numbers are and have given many new friends the wrong numbers. That’s why the phone hasn’t been ringing…right?
4. 911 doesn’t work. The code here is 112. This is good to know as Tim is monkeying around with the drier, trying to get it to work on European voltage. He’s blown a breaker at least five times. Not sure that’s the best sign.
5. And most importantly, I read somewhere that it may be illegal to have a Brazilian wax here. Something to do with cosmetologists dealing with mucous membranes. (Yow-zah!) Sorry if any of you are eating…

And so goes my German culture training.

As for my German language training, I’m halfway done with my four week intensive. I can now say such important phrases as, “My name is Heather and I come from the USA.” “I need 500mg of liverwurst.” (Remember, we’re metric in these parts.) “Is that your BMW?” And to the painter who just painted my living room an aqua straight from Miami Vice, “I’m an idiot and chose a terrible color. Can you come back next Thursday to repaint?”

This class has been the best possible thing I could have done to ease my transition. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that if we were graded, I’d get an A. (Maybe even an A+.) It reminds me how much I love school and how intoxicating the thirst for knowledge is for me. I think I’m understanding at least 80% of what my teacher is saying. Plus, I’m communicating pretty darn well with the Pakistani mom of six kids, the Hungarian teenage soccer player, and the Bulgarian McCafe employee that sit right next to me. (McDonalds is called the much more classy ‘McCafe’ here…and yes, not proud, but I have eaten there.) I’ve also made good friends with Fatima from Mexico, who challenges me to remember un poco Espanol. Last week I went to coffee after class with Fatima and one of her Latina friends, Zaleica (sp?), from the Dominican Republic. Fatima’s German isn’t wonderful, my Spanish has serious limitations and Zaleica doesn’t really speak English. So I was speaking English with Fatima, those two were rattling off Spanish and Zaleica and I were attempting German. What a crazy triangle! But we all understood, I think, what the other was saying.

So after meetings like this, I start to feel good, maybe even a little cocky. Then I get on the train to go home, immersed in the German world, and realize that I can’t understand a single word of any of the conversations going on around me. Slice of humble pie, anyone? Honestly, I really prefer strudel.